


Chocolate Stains

by Angel Grace (angel_grace01)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: First Time, M/M, Wingfic, sweets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 13:37:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21271916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel_grace01/pseuds/Angel%20Grace
Summary: When Aziraphale has a spot of trouble, of course it's Crowley that will come to his aid.





	Chocolate Stains

“Angel, you won’t believe what…” Crowley’s voice trailed off, the little chime of Aziraphale’s shop door closing behind him suddenly impossibly loud.

“What. What are you doing?” He stared at the angel who was standing in broad daylight in the middle of his Soho shop, his open to the public little bookshop, with his wings FULLY CORPOREALISED! 

Taking a deep breath, Crowley was ready and raring to go into a rant at Aziraphale’s irresponsible behaviour, when the man - celestial being - turned miserable eyes on him.

“Crowley. How lovely to see you.” The greeting sounded truly wretched as Aziraphale tried to squish his wings down... and failed spectacularly.

“Angel, what’s wrong?” Crowley took two steps forward, his hand extended towards the feathery expanse. He caught himself before he did something truly stupid, of course. There were some rules even he didn’t ignore.

“I… fell asleep.” Aziraphale looked even more unhappy, if that was possible.

Crowley frowned. With a snap of his fingers, the shop’s door was locked and the blinds drawn. Add a little demonic protection and nothing short of god or satan themselves was getting in now.

“You fell asleep. Right. And how does that translate to you standing in the middle of your shop with your wings out for all and sundry to see?” He wasn’t jealous, he really wasn’t. Aziraphale could show his wings to anyone he wanted, really. Maybe not mere mortals, but still…

“I didn’t mean to!” Aziraphale dropped down on the nearest chair, his wings instinctively shifting to lift over the back. “I was reading and I fell asleep and I dropped…”

Crowley waited, but Aziraphale didn't seem inclined to continue, merely fidgeting in his seat and shifting his wings in tandem. No demonic torture could ever get him to admit it, but the angel looked adorable. More like a cherub than the seraphim he really was. Finally losing his patience, Crowley prompted: “And you dropped… what exactly?”

“...mnmnnm…”

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“My CHOCOLATE alright! I fell asleep and somehow I manifested my wings and they knocked into my coco and it spilled all over them! There, are you happy now?” Aziraphale hunched over, his wings curling protectively around him to hide his embarrassment. Their shifting did indeed reveal a few brown streaks amongst the dowy white, trailing up towards Aziraphale’s back.

Ah yes, chocolate. Claimed and despised by heaven and hell equally. After all, something that devine must be sinful, right? The confection’s dual nature meant it possessed some rather strange properties. As it was, no miracle, be it divine or demonic, worked on it. It was literally outside both of their scopes. Why Aziraphale, who'd always been such a stickler for toeing the company line, had developed a taste for the stuff, was anyone's guess. However, it meant that his wings were firmly stuck on this plane of existence until all traces of cocoa had been removed. 

“Right.” Crowley wrinkled his nose. “I assume you still haven't gotten around to miracling yourself a nice little bathroom in this place?”

Aziraphale shrugged, his wings following and exaggerating the motion. “Never really saw the point.”

“Point of what?” Crowley replied distractedly, his eyes tracking the minute shifting of the Angel's wings.

“Of taking up valuable space with a room I have no use for,” Aziraphale sounded exasperated.

“You mean, a room you can't fill with books,” the demon snarked back. “And I'd say you've got a use for it now. A shower would clear that chocolate out pretty quickly.”

“As if,” Aziraphale sniffed, “you know what a nightmare wet wings can be. There must be a better way!”

“I... could give you a hand?” Crowley was deliberately not making eye contact, studying the walls, the books, anything as long as he didn't have to look at the angel. Wings were private. Extremely so. To have someone, anyone touch them was... unimaginable. For a demon to do so... “You know what, forget I said anything. Silly idea. How about we get...”

“All right.” The words, though whisper quiet, cut through Crowley's babbling like a hot knife through butter.

“What, what did you say?”

“Dear me Crowley, I do believe I was quite clear the first time.” Aziraphale rose and turned, presenting his back in all its feathered glory to Crowley. 

“Right.” He raked his hand through his hair. “Right,” he repeated. Damn. He sounded like a feckless idiot. Who cared that he had just been handed one of his phantasies on a silver platter? Pull yourself together Crowley! “I’ll just…”

With a snap and a little demonic miracle, he materialised a soft cloth and steaming basin of fragrant water. His hands actually trembled as he wrung out the soft fabric and hesitantly touched it to Aziraphale’s back. The angel didn’t react, apart from a slight lessening of the tension in his shoulders. 

What followed was an endless succession of stroking each primary from base to tip, carefully preening each feather as he went. His mind focussed completely on his task, he hurriedly pulled away when Aziraphale opened his wings wider. 

“Oh please my dear, do continue.” Was he imagining things or did Aziraphale sound just slightly breathless?

Daring to step closer than before, he started tackling the shorter secondaries. The chocolate stains were heavier here, though nowhere near as bad as towards the centre of his back. Crowley bent his head, inhaling deeply. The mixture of warm chocolate, warm wings and warm Aziraphale was heady, more intoxicating than any drug or priceless spirit could hope to be. 

Spotting an errant quill wedged deeply into the dense plumage Crowley dug in, his clever fingers straightening feathers as he pulled the interloper out. 

Aziraphale gave a full body shudder, his breath stuttering momentarily. The angel’s wings seemed to tremble for a second, then curved in closer towards Crowley.

“Been a while?” Crowley wanted to be flippant, teasing the angel about the poor upkeep of the wings he was tending. Instead, his voice sounded unrecognisable to his own ears, deep and husky.

Not getting an answer beyond a shrug of broad shoulders, which translated into wings brushing long primaries against the fabric of Crowley’s trousers in a tickling caress, he doubled down on his task.

Finally moving onto the tertiaries closest to Aziraphale’s back, Crowley took a deep breath. There was a large chocolate stain where skin turned to down. He gripped his cloth more firmly. He should just wipe it down and be done with it. He was already holding on by a thread as it was.

Get it done. That would be the right thing to do. The good thing to do. Only, he wasn’t good. He was a demon. Even demons had limits. Taking another deep breath to fill his lungs with the drug that was Aziraphale and chocolate, Crowley closed his eyes and finally gave into his impulses. 

Flattening his tongue, he licked a wide strip down the angel’s back, the feel of soft skin and ticklish down flooding his senses. 

Aziraphale tensed, sucking in air, his wings quivering. 

Oh god, satan, whoever, he’d fucked up royally. Grasping for something, anything to fix this, Crowley whispered: “Angel, I…” He didn’t get any further. 

Aziraphale let out a deep groan and stepped back, pushing his back against the demon’s front, his wings curving around effectively trapping him there. “Crowley…” His voice broke, heat and something else trembling in the soft sound, “please don’t stop…”

Stopping was the farthest thing from is mind as Crowley bent his head, the intoxicating smell seducing him all over again.

He tried another broad sweep of his tongue, followed by gentle kitten licks at the wingbase.

Aziraphale trembled, the movement easily felt from where Crowley had gripped his sides.

When he pointed his tongue and dug in between the feathers, lightly touching the vulnerable skin underneath, his angel’s legs buckled, breath stuttering out. 

Crowley was relentless. Using his demonic strength to hold the quivering body up, he just kept going. All traces of chocolate long gone, he was getting pure Aziraphale with every touch. A slow rumbling came from the demon as he kept finding new places to lick, to nuzzle, to rub his face in. 

Settling his lips on Aziraphale’s back where the muscles controlling the wings were thickest, he latched on and sucked, marking the pristine skin, a bruise quickly blooming under his lips.

Aziraphale let out a cry and in an impressive display of agility, twisted around in Crowley’s arms, his wing soaring over the demon’s head.

Panting, he nearly hung in the demon’s arms, his head bent as he tried to regain a semblance of composure. “Crowley…”

The demon swallowed, his own breath unsteady. He’d gone too far, he knew he had. Any second now, Aziraphale would rally and banish him. After all, he’d broken one of the strictest taboos either of their sides had. Touching another’s wings was… personal. Intimate. In a way that all the seduction and all the sex in the world wasn’t. And he’d gone in full throttle. Moving too fast indeed. He…

“It doesn’t seem fair,” Aziraphale sounded hoarse, as if he’d been screaming for some time. He had done that, he’d hurt his angel however unintentionally. Crowley tried to step back, to put some distance between them, only to be stopped by arms wrapping around his waist, holding on with angelic strength. Aziaphale continued: “not fair at all my dear, that you alone should get to taste.”

He had only a second to process those words before those plumb lips descended on his and Crowley was lost. Wrapping his own arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders, hands gripping wings’ edges for dear life, he gave himself over to the moment. Their tongues, first shy, tips just touching, started digging deep to find all the different tastes the other had to offer. 

Time ceased to hold meaning. When they finally broke apart, an hour or a century might have passed. Neither cared. Resting their foreheads together, their breaths mingling still, they tried to regain their bearings.

“Angel?” Crowley’s voice was soft, careful. “Are you ok? I’m not going to fast for you, am I?”

Aziraphale’s hand crept up, tracing his demon’s lips as his own folded into a rather naughty smile. Daintily licking at a smear of chocolate that’d found its way to the side of Crowley’s swollen lips, the angel whispered: “No my dear, I believe you are going right my speed,” and dove in for another taste.

The End (of the beginning)

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for the Ineffable Con's con zine. Many wonderful stories sprang from this Good Omens con that was held in October 2019. Please check them out, you'll find them in the collections this story is also part of.


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